


asymptotic

by orphan_account



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Friendship, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Running, they're both on the xc and track teams together ;_;
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 17:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17328965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jaemin wishes he could graph their paths like math class. Their lives laid out in front of him, as simple as x+y. Instead their paths are unknowable, unreachable, missing variables in the equation of his life.





	asymptotic

Jaemin wishes he could graph their paths like math class. Their lives laid out in front of him, as simple as  _ x+y _ . Instead their paths are unknowable, unreachable,  _ missing _ variables in the equation of his life. He keeps on repeating the word in the rhythm of his stride, the forest around him ( _ mis-sing _ ) and his best friend running at his side ( _ mis-sing _ ). Missing, missing,  _ missing _ , until he’s sprinting out into the clearing. Jeno’s right on his trail, laughing through heavy breaths. Jeno must catch a glimpse of his face, though, because before long his eye-crinkling smile is gone. 

“You okay?” He asks, clapping a hand on Jaemin’s shoulder. It does not make Jaemin feel even hotter under the light of the autumn sun. It does  _ not  _ make him lean into the touch, doesn’t make him wonder  _ what if? _ , because—

“It’s not Stanford or anything, is it?” 

Because they’re seniors and this is their last year, and he knows where they’re both headed. Jeno’s sturdy and strong, looking towards a scholarship at UCLA or somewhere else in-state. Jaemin just feels trapped, like he’s boxed in by the expectations of his parents and his teachers and even Jeno, as understanding as he is. Everyone’s been telling him to  _ choose Stanford _ , to  _ stay close to home _ , and it only increases the dread within him.

“Nah, it’s nothing,” Jaemin says, flicking Jeno’s forehead with a put-upon grin. Jeno’s eyebrows only narrow in suspicion—remembering the time Jaemin collapsed from sleep deprivation over college apps, no doubt—which forces him to fake a laugh. 

“I’m serious,” he adds, schooling his features. “I’m kind of worried about your pace though. Keep that up, and I might just beat you next meet.” With that, he starts sprinting back into the woods, back to practice.

“I doubt it,” Jeno calls, sprinting up behind him. It’s almost a perfect spring day, the sun shining onto the backs of their necks, the joy of running and the joy of his best friend combined in one instant. It  _ should _ be a perfect spring day.

Missing, missing, _missing._

  
  


 

Jeno: u ok? 

Jaemin: Yeah

Jaemin: Why?

Jeno: idk u seemed kinda distracted at practice today

Jeno: u were even slower than usual :p

Jaemin: Please ._.

Jaemin: I beat you sprinting back to practice

Jeno: pity win

Jaemin: Wow, okay then

Jeno: actually tho

Jeno: is it ur parents again

Jaemin: I’m fine!

Jaemin: Just a little tired, you know

Jeno: in six months theres summer 

Jeno: then stanford !!

Jeno: and ill be close by instate somewhere uwu

Jeno: i gotchu

 

 

 

“Hey, are you free? Can we talk?” Jaemin asks him after practice while they’re walking towards the senior parking lot. Jeno hesitates—no, of course he’s not free, not on top of college scouts and college itself and the upcoming AP Chem test—but he can make time for Jaemin. Always for Jaemin.

“Sure,” he agrees. “What is it?” 

Jaemin looks pale all of a sudden, his hands clenched into fists. He swallows audibly, then mumbles something under his breath.

“What?” Jeno repeats, confused.

“I’m going to Harvard,” Jaemin almost-shouts, his face visibly relaxing after. He continues, words addressing the ground at his feet. “I wasn’t sure, but the professors are amazing and…” He continues on, but the words fall deaf to Jeno’s ears. Like he’s underwater, drowning, and he can’t hear a thing. Finally, Jaemin looks up. “Jeno?”

_ Oh. _ The news feels numb, passing through his body. Not the joy he wants to feel at his friend’s success, but a dread that stops his thoughts like a paralytic. He tries to muster up a  _ congratulations _ , can even feel his mouth moving around the shape of the syllables.

Instead, he asks, “what about Stanford?”

His voice comes out shaky and vulnerable, a plaintive plea. 

Jaemin shrugs. “What  _ about _ Stanford?” It’s poorly put on bravado, faked indifference, but Jeno is too distracted to see the uncertainty beneath the surface.

Jeno kicks around the gravel at his feet and doesn’t say anything for a long time. “I thought…” he begins, shaking his head. “I thought Stanford was a sure thing, you know?”  _ I thought we were a sure thing, _ he adds silently.  _ The two of us spending our next four years near each other, with each other.  _

At that, Jaemin sighs. “It wasn’t a sure thing, and you know it. I’ve—I’ve been wanting to leave for  _ so long _ —” he breaks off. “I mean, what did you expect?”

Jeno nods, still on autopilot. “Yeah, I understand,” he says dazedly. In the distance he can spot his car, and it feels like salvation.

“I gotta go, actually,” Jeno says, already turning away, trying not to hurt. “See you.”

“See you,” Jaemin echoes. With that, Jeno turns around and sprints to his car, his hands clenched into fists the whole time.

 

 

Jeno: wooo summer

Jeno: i woke up at 1pm today

Jaemin: Same

Jeno: havent seen u in a while

Jeno: wanna meet in an hour?

Jaemin: Sorry, I’m busy

Jaemin: It’s some Chinese family friend thing idk

Jeno: ok.

 

 

The last night before Jaemin leaves for college, Jeno sleeps over at his house. Everything’s the same on the surface, but underlying it all is a tension that Jeno can’t describe, pulling taut and tense within him. They don’t say much of anything between playing video games and watching a movie; when they finally lie down in their adjacent sleeping bags, everything is silent. Jeno doesn’t— _ can’t _ —sleep, and he can tell from Jaemin’s unsteady breathing that he’s awake too. 

Jeno closes his eyes, patiently waiting for Jaemin to break the quiet. There’s something about these moonlight-gilded moments that makes him softer, easier to coax out of his shell. It’s such a contrast from the way Jaemin’s been the whole summer—brow furrowing between laughs, withdrawn and quiet—that Jeno scarcely believes it. He hopes with baited breath.

Finally, Jaemin says, “I’m kind of nervous about tomorrow.” He shuffles closer to Jeno within his sleeping bag and continues. “I keep—I keep thinking about home. About  _ here _ .” And Jeno knows that he’s talking about the almost metaphysical hold they have on each other, the way that feeling can transcend just a simple friendship. 

He finally opens his eyes, and Jaemin is much closer than expected. The moonlight reflects in his eyes, only showing the uncertainty within. 

Jeno doesn’t know what to say in response. Sometimes, it feels like nothing can describe the way he feels, the way his emotions are reflected in the smallest of things, the way they keep on getting closer and closer but not close  _ enough _ .

“We’re gonna miss this, yeah?” Jeno tries, his voice slightly hoarse. Jaemin nods, lips parted in a breathy sigh.

For not the first time, Jeno wonders what it would be like to kiss him. For not the first time, Jeno leans in, ever so slowly. He can see the want in his eyes, is  _ soclose _ —

“No,” Jaemin says, shaking his head and averting his eyes. “I— _ no _ . I’m leaving tomorrow.” He pauses, looking at Jeno pleadingly. “We can’t.”

Somehow, it feels even worse than last time, even though last time Jaemin told him, “I—I’m not like  _ that, _ ” and they hadn’t spoke for two weeks. 

Maybe it’s the fact that he didn’t say no, but he still refused everything. 

  
  


 

The morning of Jaemin’s departure is quietly strained. 

“Call me, or Skype, or whatever,” he says. He doesn’t look at Jeno, his hands shoved in his pockets. Instead he wonders what it would’ve been like to close the gap between them. He was so close, too—so close to throwing away a summer’s worth of careful constraint and avoidance. 

So close to ruining their friendship just a day before he would leave. 

Maybe Jaemin ruined it the first time he lied and said  _ No, I don’t like you like that. _

  
  


 

They try to keep up, they really do. That’s what Jeno says to himself, anyways. It starts out as a Skype call every week, then every two weeks, until it dwindles down to the point that Jeno sees Jaemin’s social media posts more than Jaemin smiling back at him tiredly through a webcam. The social media posts are the best and the worst; just the sight of Jaemin smiling, even if it’s tight around the edges and camera-perfect, makes Jeno paradoxically more relieved and concerned. He tries to push his worry away though, tells himself that  _ Jaemin chose this _ at least twice daily.

  
  


Jaemin: Hey

Jaemin: Haven’t talked in awhile

Jeno: yeah

Jaemin: How are you?

Jeno: ok

Jeno  _ (unsent) _ : is this what weve become

Jeno: what abt u

Jaemin: Good

Jaemin  _ (unsent) _ : I miss you

  
  


 

Jaemin buries himself into school and friends. Pledges into a frat, makes connections, becomes of the antithesis of whatever he imagines Jeno is doing at UC Berkeley. He drowns, slowly and gradually, and this time there’s no one to pull him out, to tell him that he’s going too far, too fast. There's still something missing.

  
  


 

“Hello?” Jeno fumbles at his phone blindly, the screen bright enough to make out a name in the darkness: Jaemin. Just the sight of his name lighting up his phone sends a tremor through his body.

“Heyyy,” Jaemin says, dragging the vowel out.

“Why did you call me?” Jeno asks. _ You never call me anymore, _ he doesn’t say. “It’s like 3 a.m. your time.”

“It’s my birthday,” Jaemin sings.  _ He must be drunk at one of those frat parties, _ Jeno thinks, concerned despite himself. “I’m twenty-one now!”

“That’s… that’s great,” he says, chuckling despite himself. He can hear people talking in the background on the other side of the phone, laughing and celebrating. The loneliness he’s tried so hard to erase slams into him suddenly, overwhelmingly, as Jaemin starts rambling.

“... and you—you don’t even call me anymore,” Jaemin ends with, plaintive and stuttering.

“Isn’t that what you wanted? To get away from me?” Jeno asks. He tries not to be bitter—tastes the sweet futility of it—but it comes out anyway.

Jaemin laughs, but it sounds like he’s crying. “That’s—not. It was never you. It was—never.” Now he’s crying for real, hacking sobs that are painful to hear over the phone.

Jeno inhales sharply, then shakes his head at himself.  _ No, _ he thinks. Not after three years of nothing. Not when he’s finally got himself back together.

“Listen,” he says, once Jaemin’s stopped sniffling. He doesn’t want to have his heart broken again. There’s shouting in the background on Jaemin’s side, a couple of birthday wishes that are too loud to be sober. “Don’t call me again, yeah?”

  
  
  


Jaemin knows that he can graph their lives out like math class, now, and he misses the days where uncertainty was a possibility. He longs for the days where his future was an endless series of possibilities spreading out in front of him, regrets knowing the missing variables he had once coveted. He’d never thought that not  _ knowing  _ would actually be the best kind of knowing, that ignorant hope was the the best kind of bliss. Because,  _ because— _

They were two lines that would never touch.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for the angst... oops...
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/way_vsicheng) & [cc](https://curiouscat.me/markohmark_)
> 
> i'm on the lookout for a beta-reader rn so please feel free to contact me if you're willing to do so


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